Skittles
by trollalalala
Summary: I pulled a skittle out of the pouch around my neck and pushed it into her hand. A green one for the green in her eyes. Those green orbs of blankness staring into nothing. History can repeat.


**I own nothing and I'm not making any money off of this. **

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I like rock candy, Jolly Ranchers, and salt-water taffy, smarties and most of all, skittles. They're all sweet and I don't like sour.

Sour is the feeling that makes you shiver, but sweet is the kind thst makes your mouth water. Sour is regret and broken promises. Sweet is the feeling of not before or after, but now. No regrets and no promises made.

Sour is the taste of the ruin of the gods when they ruin us and send us to a ruined place where they expect us to ruiun others for them. Sweet is when we survive. Sour is after we survive.

But when I did it, even the sweet in my mouth couldn't mask the sour in my stomach.

It took two seconds. One half of a second to consider, another half for him to decide first, a quarter for me to thrust my arm forward, and then three quarters to turn away.

I know he hadn't went away yet, the gurgling noises were proof, but I looked away after those two seconds.

I can't describe it very well, but it's something that you never want to see. It's something that you can't capture in a painting, photo, or program. It's something that you have to see up close, in real life, with an already untrusting soul in your hands and your hands hurling it off a cliff.

It's the eyes that slowly lose life and then the body that suddenly falls like a ragdoll. I didn't see that happen, but I felt it when the arm that clutched my dagger suddenly fell. I fell with it.

No. That wasn't supposed to happen. But it did, damnit.

I pulled a skittle out from a pouch around my neck and tucked it into his pocket. A yellow one so if he didnt have any money to cross the river with, he could try to fool Charon. It probably wouldn't, but he would have have a skittle to remind him of the sweet in life And the lemon-sour tang that comes with it.

History can and will repeat.

It did for me.

I pulled a skittle out of the pouch around my neck and pushed it into her hand. A green one for the green in her eyes. Those green orbs of blankness staring into nothing. I guessed she was a daughter of Demeter, for she had pushed her palms outwards and willed vines to form around my feet just before she went away. Green for the trees, the real ones and not the fake ones down there, that she will never see again. Green for the sweet and the sour, and how an apple never falls far from the tree. Except in this case, the never ending never was broken.

History can and will repeat.

I pulled a skittle out of the pouch around my neck and pushed it into his scabbard. A red one for the way he fought. Dangerous, daring, stupidly. Red so he'd remember the color of the way the world looks and that there is a reason to continue living, even if you're not living anymore.

History can and will repeat.

I pulled a skittle out of the pouch around my neck and pushed it into a small opening in his armor. Orange for the the shine that was in him. How he played defense and fought carefully and used simple tactics. Orange for the shine that he didn't let out. Orange so he will feel loved and appreciated when he is in a place where no one cares and no one notices.

After the battle, I ran back and back to base where I cried into a pillow and heaved up my lunch, breakfast, and dinner from the night before.

I had all but one of my skittles. They all were crusted over and crushed and rock-hard with age. They were sweet.

But they didn't help mask the taste of the sour in my tongue.

And their taste didn't help mask the bitter in my heart.

The next day I saw someone. She looked at me through sweaty bodies and gave me a look that screamed. It screamed over the clash of metal and the yelling of our commanders.

It screamed pity.

History can repeat.

I took the last skittle out from a pouch around my neck and put it into my mouth with difficulty. Purple, grape, my least favorite flavor.

No wonder it was salty.


End file.
